


Choose One

by rsadelle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:53:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rsadelle/pseuds/rsadelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock chooses Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choose One

**Author's Note:**

> This does not really fit into canon in any sensible way, but I couldn't resist playing with it anyway. Most of the plot is handwaved in favor of the relationships.
> 
> **Warnings:** Given the presence of Irene, there is some kink content with potential consent issues, including hair pulling and a slap to the face.

"Now, this," Moriarty calls across the room, "this is fun! But I don't want you to be without companionship. This game would be so dull if you were to decide you can't go on. And I do know how important your pets are to you." He runs a caressing hand over John's hair, then Irene's. There is a slight tightening around John's eyes that promises retribution at the earliest moment. Irene doesn't so much as move a muscle.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asks.

"Want? Why, to keep playing. For now, a choice will suffice." Moriarty pauses.

"I get one of them and you keep the other." Sherlock's eyes stay locked on Moriarty. "How very unoriginal."

Moriarty scowls at the interruption, and the insult. "No!" he shouts. "You get one of them. I kill the other." He straightens his coat and walks in a half-circle behind John and Irene. "Tell me, children, who do you think it will be?"

Neither of them speak. John keeps looking at Sherlock. Irene stares straight ahead.

"Children," Moriarty sing-songs, "answer the question. Now." The last is said in a snarl.

There's half a beat before John says, "Irene," and Irene says, "John."

They look at each other.

John says, "I'll never interest him the way you do."

Irene says, "I'll never stay with him the way you do."

"How touching," Moriarty drawls. He redirects his attention from them to Sherlock. "Your turn."

Sherlock looks at John and Irene, and then he looks at Moriarty and takes in all that information Sherlock takes in. Cat hair and a drop of blood on Moriarty's cuffs. A woman's hair on his lapel. The faintest irregular scratch on his neck that could only have been made by a sharp blade wielded by a nervous hand.

"Molly."

Moriarty laughs in delight. "Oh, very good. Very good." He stops short of clapping his hands but gestures at the door.

Molly's hair is in disarray, and there's an unbandaged cut on her forearm. Her wrists are tied together with a rope that's leaving marks but hasn't yet cut off her circulation. She heaves in a breath and mouths Sherlock's name.

Moriarty puts his arm around her shoulders. "Molly," he says. "Molly, Molly, Molly. He had a choice you know. One of them." He grips her chin, fingers digging in hard enough to turn her skin white around them. No one else has moved. "And he chose you."

Molly shudders.

Moriarty kisses her cheek.

Her muscles twitch with the effort to pull against his grip.

"Go on," he says as he pushes her away, hard enough that she stumbles. "You're his now."

Molly catches her balance halfway across the room.

"That's your choice made." Moriarty smiles. It's not a nice smile. "That means I get both of them." He gestures at John and Irene.

"No," Sherlock says. "I don't think so." The movement of his eyes doesn't mean anything to Moriarty, but it does to John and Irene.

The two of them move together, but Moriarty is slippery enough to slide away from them. "So loyal," he says with a mocking laugh. "Even Miss Adler. I wouldn't have expected it of her." He rubs his hands together. "This is going to be so much fun." He walks away and holds up his hand in a backward wave just before he goes through the door. "I'll be seeing you soon."

They all wait for the door to close behind him, and then Sherlock mutters, "I hope not," as he makes his way to John and Irene in three long strides. He unpicks the knots on the ropes they're bound with and makes a frustrated sound when one of them catches.

"Not an expert then," Irene says.

Sherlock finishes the knots on John and leaves him to get the rest of Irene's.

Molly has collapsed to her knees sometime while everyone else was busy.

Sherlock kneels next to her. "You're all right."

Molly's shaking and she puts her head on his shoulder while he gives one tug to the knots holding her wrists together. The rope falls away, and she huddles closer.

"It's over," Sherlock tells her. "He doesn't have you any more." And then, sharply, "John!"

"Right, yes." John kneels next to them and tries to take Molly's wrist to check her pulse and the cut on her arm, tries to get her to look at him. "I can't check on her if she won't let me."

"I know that," Sherlock snaps. He puts his fingers to Molly's neck. "Her pulse is rapid and erratic."

"I see you do that with all the girls." Irene looms over all three of them. "And I always thought I was special." There are red marks around her wrist. She pulls Molly's head back by her hair until Molly has no choice but to look at her. Then, with Molly still looking at her unseeing, Irene slaps her across the face.

It works, and Molly focuses.

"There," Irene says. "All you need is someone to take care of you." She steps closer and lets Molly lean her head on her thigh. "Good girl."

Neither John nor Sherlock can handle being at Irene's feet anymore, but there's still Molly. John stands, and then Sherlock stands and brings Molly up with him.

*

"He killed Toby," Molly says in the cab. Tears slide down her cheeks.

"Toby?" John asks, suddenly stiff and alert.

"The cat," Sherlock says without looking up from his phone.

" _My_ cat." Molly's voice rises with every word. "My cat, and he killed him. He killed him. Like it didn't matter. Like it was, like it was nothing."

"Molly." Irene's voice cracks through the air like a whip.

Molly subsides into silent crying, but it does nothing to ease the tension that carries them all the way to Baker Street.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Hudson says. She bustles around the kitchen and makes tea.

Sherlock settles Molly on the couch. John cleans and bandages the cut on her arm.

John adds extra sugar to Molly's cup before he hands it to her. Her hands shake. She doesn't drink until Sherlock touches her elbow and says, "Drink your tea."

Irene lounges in a chair as if she belongs there, teacup perfectly balanced in her hand. "What will you do with her now?"

Sherlock looks at her almost absently. "She'll have to stay here."

John looks around the room, trying to figure out the logistics.

"Don't be annoying, John," Sherlock says. "I'm not going to sleep anyway. She can have my room."

"Well," Irene says, "two women in your bed. How," she pauses, "unprecedented."

Molly looks up and finally seems to catch on to the fact that something is going on around her. "You're-" She looks at Sherlock. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Sherlock only gives her his usual superior look.

"Oh," Irene says. "I do see why you like her." She gets out of the chair, puts her cup on the table, and comes to the couch, where she looms over Molly. "Not very pretty, of course. The mouth is too small. Could do with a bit of effort on the hair and a padded bra. But I see why you like her." Irene's mouth curves into a smile that isn't very warm. She takes two steps to the left and leans in to whisper into Sherlock's ear. "She finds all of this just as frightening as you do." She puts her hand to his neck for a moment. "Your pulse is very even."

"Yes." Sherlock stands, making her move back. "Come, Molly." He puts his hand under her elbow. "You've had a shock. You should get some rest."

Sherlock gets Molly settled into his bed, and returns to the living room where John and Irene are not quite pretending not to see each other.

Sherlock looks from one to the other, then takes John's laptop - it's closer - and sits down to focus on his work.

"You chose Molly," John says after a while.

"I think," Irene says when Sherlock doesn't answer, "he means, why did you choose Molly?"

Sherlock deigns to look at both of them, a brief glance that doesn't settle for more than an instant. "You both could have gotten out of there yourselves. Molly wouldn't have."

The previous quiet returns.

*

An untold number of hours later - John is slumping in his chair, but obviously unwilling to leave Sherlock and Irene alone; Irene looks as fresh and comfortable as if she just sat down - Molly hesitates at the edge of the room. She's wearing pajamas that are too large for her, with Sherlock's blue dressing gown belted tightly around herself.

Irene raises an eyebrow. "Your dressing gown, too."

"Do be quiet," Sherlock says. "I'm thinking."

John is the one to get up and bring Molly through the room and into the kitchen. "There should still be something edible in here. Of course, you never know with Sherlock around and you giving him access to the morgue." He glances over his shoulder and smiles at Molly. "At least you won't be alarmed by what he's keeping about."

Molly sits at the table, where she can see into the front room, while John reheats things for her to eat.

"Anyone else?" He pops his head into the other room, looks at Sherlock staring at his computer screen and Irene staring at Sherlock.

"I don't eat when I'm working," Sherlock says. "You know that."

"I live in hope," John says under his breath. "Miss Adler?"

"No." She takes her eyes away from Sherlock for a moment. "I'm quite satisfied."

"Right." John makes up two plates and sits with Molly at the table.

"Is she his girlfriend?" Molly asks after a while.

John looks toward the front room, even though he can't see it from where he's sitting. "I'm not sure what she is," he admits.

John has replaced Molly's food with tea when Sherlock joins them at the table. "He doesn't care about her." He steeples his hands together beneath his chin. "It's all part of the game. Meant to gain my attention."

"Really?" Irene asks from the doorway. "And us?"

Sherlock doesn't bother to look at her. "Obvious." He brings the full force of his focus to bear on Molly. "I need you to tell me everything that happened."

He badgers and browbeats her through everything she can remember, and then dismisses her from his attention.

"Add Jim to the mix," Irene says when he's done, when Molly is still staring at him, and John is also watching him, waiting to see what he will do with the information, "and we'd have all your most ardent admirers in this room."

"I don't understand," Molly says. "I don't understand any of this." Her lip trembles. "Who are you?"

"You may call me Miss Adler." Irene comes into the room and caresses Molly's cheek. "You needn't know any more than that."

"Oh, don't coddle her," Sherlock says. "She's a forensic pathologist. She's obviously not unused to the results of crime."

"Sherlock," John says.

Sherlock ignores him.

"Oh, I've no intention of coddling her." Irene cups Molly's chin and tilts her face up. "None at all."

"No." Molly pushes away from the table and stands up. Her jaw trembles, but she speaks. "I don't want- I don't want you touching me. I don't want any of this."

"Now that's not true." Irene steps closer to Molly.

Sherlock catches her wrist before she can touch Molly. "Consensual is one of the watchwords of your profession."

Irene twists so that it seems as if being held is her idea. "Are you volunteering?"

Sherlock drops her arm and steps around her. "You've slept less than five hours in the last twenty-four," he says to Molly.

Molly shakes her head. "I dreamt about him."

There's a long moment of silence before Sherlock says, "I'll play you a lullaby."

Molly goes with him, and he scoops up his violin on the way to his room.

It leaves John and Irene to look at each other.

"I didn't think," Irene says, "that he would go on choosing her."

*

John goes to check on them later. They're both asleep, Molly in the bed and Sherlock next to her on top of the covers.

Irene is gone when he returns to the common areas of the flat.

*

Sherlock is gone in the morning. Mrs. Hudson makes breakfast, and Molly joins John at the table, still in Sherlock's clothes.

"I should go home," she says.

"Now, dear," Mrs. Hudson says, "eat your breakfast. It can't be safe for you, and I've washed your clothes."

Molly shudders. "I don't want to wear them again."

"You don't have to."

Molly looks up at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "I can go home?"

"Certainly not." Sherlock sits at the table and takes a piece of toast from John's plate and a slice of bacon from Molly's. "I brought some of your clothes. They're in the bedroom."

"You-" Molly flushes and looks down. "You went through my things?"

"Yes. And cleaned up a bit." Sherlock takes her plate, and at John's look says, "She's not going to eat any more of it anyway."

"Cl- Cleaned up?"

"You never clean."

Sherlock actually hesitates. "Toby," he says.

Tears slide down Molly's cheeks.

"Oh, dear, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson flutters around and pours everyone more tea. "Let the poor girl be."

"I'm not doing anything to 'the girl,'" Sherlock says.

Molly wraps her hands tight around her teacup. "I'm supposed to be at work in half an hour."

"Then you should get dressed," Sherlock says.

Molly stares at him as he eats his way through her breakfast.

"I will accompany you," Sherlock says. "I have things to check on at Barts."

"Are you sure that's quite safe?" John asks.

"Yes," Sherlock says. "I will be with her."

"And who's going to keep you safe?"

"He won't come after me directly," Sherlock says. Then he looks at Molly. "You are running out of time."

Molly takes her tea with her to get dressed, and she and Sherlock share a cab to Barts.

Sherlock disappears somewhere once they're there.

*

Sherlock shows up at the morgue three minutes before Molly's shift ends, when she's been wondering for at least five whether she's expected to just go back to Baker Street by herself.

*

It only lasts for so long, before Molly and Sherlock's cab driver turns out to not be a cab driver - Stupid! He's seen that one before. - and they end up somewhere where Moriarty has Irene.

"Very clever," Moriarty says, "using Molly as bait."

Molly makes a noise that both men ignore.

"Not clever enough," Moriarty sing-songs. "Come on, Sherlock, did you really think I couldn't figure out where your heart lies?"

Molly stares at Irene, who looks at Sherlock with a steady gaze.

Moriarty taunts Sherlock for a little while - they both continue to ignore Molly - but Sherlock can't save Irene.

John can, and does.

"All right?" Sherlock asks as he holds out a hand to help Irene up.

"Quite," Irene says, even though it's an obvious lie.

Irene disappears, and Molly trails along to Baker Street. John remains silent and angry the whole way there.

Molly goes into Sherlock's bedroom and comes back ten minutes later with her suitcase.

"Molly," John says. "Sherlock, is it safe for her to go home?"

"What?" Sherlock looks around. "Oh, yes. Moriarty will have lost interest in her now."

"And therefore you have too," Molly says, halfway between defiant and bereft. She goes home.

*

Molly opens her door at Sherlock's knock, despite her obvious fear.

"You left," he says.

"Yes."

He stares at her. "But why?"

Molly stares back at him. "Because," she says. "It's not that you can't love people. I thought that was it. That you can't. But you do. You love John and Mrs. Hudson and-" her voice catches. "And that woman. It's only me you don't love."

"Don't be foolish. There are nearly seven billion people in the world. I don't love the great majority of them." Sherlock examines her face. "She was right," he says, sounding almost surprised. "About you. You don't want sex. You only want love, or the semblance thereof."

Molly turns away from him. "Just go. You can still have access to the morgue."

"I got used to you." Sherlock puts his hand on her shoulder. "Come to bed, Molly Hooper."

Molly turns to look at him. "You're going to stay?"

"I have an experiment that needs tending in the morning," Sherlock says. "But I will stay until then."

Molly turns away. "The semblance thereof," she murmurs. Sherlock doesn't respond.

*

"I didn't take them," Molly stutters in the bedroom. "They were just in with my things." She hands him a set of his pajamas.

She leaves the room to dress and brush her teeth while Sherlock puts them on.

This time, Sherlock gets into bed with her, both of them beneath the covers. Molly tentatively reaches toward him.

"Yes," he says.

"Yes?"

"Yes, you may touch me."

Molly curls closer, puts one arm around him and her head on his chest.

*

He's gone when she wakes up, his pajamas folded neatly on top of her dresser.

*

John comes down to breakfast to find Sherlock hovering over his microscope.

"You were out late last night."

"Yes," Sherlock says. "I was at Molly's."

There's only the barest pause in John's tea making. "Are you going to be at Molly's often then?"

Sherlock doesn't answer.


End file.
